“Finish your work, my Warlord, so that I can eat.” I held out my hands so that he could finish. “The warriors in Xy will probably do exactly what Rafe and the others have done. Continue to follow you. Besides, there is little chance that the messenger will get through the snows in the mountains.”
Keir shrugged. “Only the elements can say.”
“What did Rafe mean, when he said, ‘That which has been lost can be regained’?”
“The Council agreed that I can enter the combats again, in the spring, and fight for warlord status,” Keir said quietly. “A named warlord has only to defeat any that offer direct challenge. But I would have to fight my way through the tiers to win the status again.” He flashed me a look. “Not an easy thing. Lara.”
“You are a Warlord of the Plains, Keir of the Cat,” I told him. “To me, to your warriors, to the People of Xy. What care I for the word of a Council of stupid bracnects?”
He gave me a wry look.
I made no further comment as he worked on my hands, getting them as clean as he could. I felt his need to care for me, as I needed to care for him.
Finally, when it was done to his satisfaction, he spread the salve over my hands, working it in carefully. I smiled at him when he stoppered the jar. “Another day or two, and they will be fine.”
“So you say,” Keir responded. He tore one of the drying cloths into strips, and wrapped my palms again.
“So I know.” I sat back and flexed my fingers. Keir gathered up my things, and placed them back in the satchel, heedless of the order. There was a soft cough outside, and Marcus entered with a small wooden box. He said nothing, merely handed it to Keir, snatching up the used drying cloth on his way out.
“Keir.” I patted the bed next to me.
He hesitated, then nodded and stood, to remove his swords and daggers, and placed them on the bed, well within reach. When that was done, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, next to me.
I turned, settled myself so that I faced him. Carefully I pulled the tray around so I could reach it easily. “Keir, you did what had to be done. At Wellspring. At the Council. My hands are fine, and there’s no sign that they’ll sour.”
“I never thought they’d draw blades in a senel. When Antas called for your death—” Keir shuddered. He opened the box in his hands, and I caught the faint scent of clove oil. Keir picked a cloth out of the box, reached for one of his swords, and started to clean it.
I took up a bowl of stew, dipped some of the bread in and started eating.
“They’d stop at nothing to prevent your confirmation.” Keir scowled at his blade. “Honor and truth were abandoned in an instant when they thought they would lose.”
I said nothing, merely ate, and listened.
“I should take you away from here. Back to Xy, where you would be safe and protected.”
I reached for more bread. “Would I?” I dipped some bread in the rich broth and held it out to Keir. He opened his mouth, and I fed him the piece. “Would it really be safer, Keir?”
He chewed, looking at me though dark lashes. “We still don’t know who attacked you on the journey to the Heart.”
“I am safest here, within your protection, My Warlord.” I took up another piece of the flat bread, scooped up some of the meat, and offered it to him. Keir obediently opened his mouth and took it. “You yourself told me that you were trying to bring change to your people, and change is rarely bloodless.” I held out the bowl. “Hold this, would you?”
Keir swallowed and took the bowl from my hand, which let me reach for kavage. He reached for more bread as he spoke. “When word came that you and Keekai had been attacked, I feared the worst.” He dug into the stew. “Simus arrived almost with Keekai’s messenger. Atira and Heath were with him.”
I handed him the mug of kavage, and he took a long drink. “What is the story behind Heath’s eye?” I asked.
Keir handed me back the mug. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his eyes danced. “Your Xyian friend has odd ideas. He leaped between Atira and her opponent, apparently to ‘protect’ her, or so he said.” Keir shook his head. “As if that warrior needed protecting. He’s lucky all she did was hit him for that insult.”
I chuckled, taking his mug and pressing more bread into his hand. “Yet you leap to my defense fast enough.”
Keir gave me a wry smile. “Your pardon, but you are not a warrior, Lara.”
“True.” I smiled as he started in on the stew. I picked up the other bowl of stew.
“Rafe and Prest told me what you did at the birthing.” Keir looked at me oddly. “Is it true, you cut her open and pulled out the babes? And they all lived?”
“So far as I know, they live. Maybe now I can check on her openly.” I smiled in quiet satisfaction as Keir mopped up the last of his stew. “I felt so much better that Rafe and Prest were there. I was reassured, knowing that they were watching over me, even from a distance.”
Keir nodded, chewing. But then his head jerked up, and he swallowed and fixed me with his glare. “But there will be no more sneaking under tent walls to go healing!”
“I promise, Keir.” I reached out, took the empty bowl and handed him the full one. “After what happened in the village, I promise that I will tell you where I go and why.” I gave him a sly glance. “Not that I promise to obey, mind you.”
“Might as well order the wind not to blow,” Keir muttered. But the corners of his eyes were crinkled, and I knew he understood. I eyed him over the rim of my kavage mug, but said nothing. He smiled then, his shoulders easing down under his quilted tunic. He reached for more bread, and started eating again.
I reached for the gurt, and popped a few in my mouth. For some reason, it still tasted wonderful, and I chewed with enjoyment.
Keir reached the bottom of the bowl, and mopped up the last of the broth with the last of the bread. Mar cus had been right. Not enough to feed an army, but enough to feed one empty warlord.
“I’ll miss Keekai.” I spoke softly, putting my empty kavage mug on the tray and reaching for a few more pieces of gurt. “She was a true friend to you.”
“Even in death.” Keir placed the empty bowl on the tray. “She kept you safe for me.”
“She did.” I caught my breath, remembering the pain. “I thought it was you, riding behind me, guarding me.”
Keir lifted the tray and set it by our feet. “I could not find you.” Keir’s voice was just as soft. “I thought I’d sent you to your death.”
I looked at him, my tears welling up. “Keir.”
He reached out, and I went into his arms and hugged him tight, crying at what might have been. The gurt dropped from my hand, forgotten. No threat of chainmail, so I rested my head on his shoulder, and listened to the beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should be so happy, but I was so afraid. And now . . .”
“We’re out of balance.” Keir reached for my hand.
I smiled. “It takes the touch of another to bring us back, to center us, am I right?”
“That is so.” Keir rubbed my knuckles, and then started to stroke the back of my hand. “The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand.”
I watched as his fingers moved lightly over my skin. “Seems to me it’s a convenient reason to touch another.”
“Really?” Keir arched an eyebrow.
“Really,” I whispered, reaching for his right hand, placing it in mine. “The breath is made of air, and sits within the right hand.” I massaged his hand as best I could, rubbing it lightly with my fingers.
Keir made a sound of appreciation deep in his throat. “How clever we of the Plains are, to have a reason to touch.”